


new year's resolution - to kiss you like I mean it

by smartlike



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mentioned Kendall Jenner/Harry Styles, Minor Nick Grimshaw/Other Male Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlike/pseuds/smartlike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Gelz says she's quitting smoking for New Year's, wants him to do it too, but she says that every year so Nick figures he won't try it unless she can manage first. Besides, quitting Harry Styles is going to be enough quitting for the year, maybe for next year too. Nick hasn't mentioned that resolution to anyone, though, knows how it will sound through the fog of their concern.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	new year's resolution - to kiss you like I mean it

**Author's Note:**

> Title via Camera Obscura.

"That suit is ridiculous." It's true and it's funny and it's not at all what Nick really wants to say.

"Shut up. You can't borrow it." Harry leans in and presses a quick kiss to Nick's cheek. 

Nick scoffs and breathes in Harry's cologne before pulling back. Harry keeps him in place a second longer before letting out a soft sigh then releasing Nick. They banter for a bit more, but Harry's moving on to Rita and Niall and Louis step into Nick's sight line and before Nick can even really look at Harry again, everyone is being whisked into their appropriate places. 

By the time Nick is off stage and away from the chaos, Harry is gone, headed out to his after party and hopefully for some sleep. Over the years Nick has become an expert in the various versions of exhausted hiding under whatever expression Harry actually shows on his face and the current one is no where near the worst, but it's not what he would call well-rested either. When Nick gets his phone back from Aimee, he scrolls through the notifications and clicks to the messages from Harry. _What's with Will Ferrell?_ and _Aimee said you're not coming to this party?_ sent during the end of the show and then as Nick's reading these, a third comes in _Dinner next week then?_

Nick closes his eyes and sees the brief after image of the message, a blue box and a series of black question marks on his eyelids before it darkens fully. He tries to decide if he should allow himself to consider that a metaphor. A minute passes and he hasn't made a decision about that or about dinner but Rita's screeching something behind him and grabbing his shoulder, so he presses his phone into his pocket and turns, falling against her and laughing.

"I thought it would never be over," she says and he makes another attempt at pulling her dress up over her boobs before releasing her to find their cigarettes.

He doesn't respond to Harry until almost 2am, Michael curled up behind him and the sound of Pig snoring heavy from across the room. It's just a quick, _Sounds good_ and he knows there's a greater than seventy-five percent chance it won't even happen. As he's trying to fall asleep, hes' still going back and forth on whether he wants it to or not, like Liv picking the petals off daisies in his Mum's garden, "he loves me, he loves me not" circling around in his head until he drifts off for a fitful few hours of sleep.

Dinner happens, probably because after a day long hangover Nick came down on the side of not really wanting it to and that's how the universe works when it comes to Nick and Harry. In any case, that decision doesn't stop Nick's stomach from flipping in a shudder of anticipation when sees Harry across the restaurant, leaning back in his chair, lip pulled between his teeth as he reads the menu with a look of careful concentration.

He has the same look on his face hours later in Nick's bedroom when Harry pulls back for a second, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. "You and uh, you know--" Nick can't decide if Harry really doesn't remember Michael's name or just doesn't want to use it. Either option is annoying, but not annoying enough to stop him from wrapping his hand around Harry's dick. Harry's eyes flutter closed and he bites his lip. "You're not exclusive?"

"Little late to be asking that." Nick laughs, slides his hand slowly toward the base of Harry's cock and Harry manages to push his hips forward at the same time he pulls his upper body further away. And Nick isn't having that, doesn't want Harry to be even an inch further than is necessary to keep a hand between them, so "No." Harry smiles bright, nods, and pushes his hair back before bending down into the kiss again.

And they haven't talked about it, so they're not, because that's something that you have to decide. But Nick knows that if he asked, Michael would say they should be, and Nick's not an ass, so he'll have to tell him, which means they won't be anything at all. But he can't really feel any way about that with Harry pressing into Nick's fist, his hands searching for a spot to land on Nick's hips, and breathy whines escaping into the air every time their lips slip apart for more than a second.

*

Harry wants to come to Nick's and Nick scrambles, suggests going out instead. Harry coughs against the phone, says he thinks he's coming down with something and just wants to stay in at Nick's, though, so they do. They settle on Nick's sofa, Harry with a cuppa and Nick with the last glass from a bottle of wine he probably should have just poured down the sink. He grimaces a little at the acid taste on his tongue, but any port in a storm, really. When Harry called, Nick's first reaction was surprise he was still in town, but he didn't say that, just smiled at himself in the mirror while he said, "the pleasure of seeing Harry Styles twice in a fortnight?" because one of the first lessons anyone taught him about presenting radio was that smiling made you sound cheery even when no one could see you.

"Want the telly?" Nick nods at the screen across from them, taps at the gap between the cushions for the remote control, but Harry shrugs. 

"I'm not bothered."

Nick nods, takes another sip of his wine. "Tell me what you're doing with the time off then. Where'll you be for Christmas?" 

"Home," Harry says, his fingers curling around the tea cup. Nick stares at a small chip catching the light and hopes it's not sharp enough to scratch Harry's lips. "Could come to yours for Boxing Day, maybe."

"Oh, no. The Grimshaws are going away for Christmas - proper posh. Eileen is very excited over not having to cook."

Nick stares at the dark telly, hiding his face in case it shows that he's almost glad they'll miss one another. Negotiating the emotional minefield of a friend-with-benefits where the benefits sometimes seem like strings that have gotten hopelessly tangled doesn't seem like an ideal Christmas plan. Next to him Harry laughs. The sound leaves Nick unsure if he avoided looking at Harry so he wouldn't know Nick was happy about their separate holiday plans or because Nick didn't want to see if Harry felt the same way.

"Can't believe you're doing Christmas without her famous potatoes," Harry says, laughter lingering in the words.

"It's going to be an incredible sacrifice, but they deserve a holiday."

"Yeah. I'm taking Mum and Robin out on Jeff's yacht for New Year's." Harry sips at his tea and licks his lips. "Let them relax, like. Somewhere warm."

Nick nods again, imagines Harry lounging on a ship's deck, remembers getting texts from him during a boat trip years ago. He forces down some more wine.

"Are you going away, after Christmas?"

"Miami, DJing a party, and then Belize." Nick turns to watch Pig settling into her bed. "Some resort Alexa found, supposed to be remote and relaxing, help you start off your New Year right, get ready to tackle the resolutions and the post-holiday let down." Nick isn't thinking about the post-holiday let down, though, just the usual one he'll feel when Harry's back to America.

Harry's eyes light up. He loves resolutions - fresh starts and green smoothies and promises to do yoga every day. "What's yours this year?"

Nick rolls his eyes. Harry knows he doesn't make resolutions. Well, beyond the usual promise to cut down on parties with booze, and booze in general, and chips after too much booze. Nick shrugs. "What's yours?"

Nick hates when a question is answered with a question, but Harry just grins. "To relax, I think. To figure out how to do stuff other than the band." He bites his lip and Nick flashes back to the week before, Harry coming quietly above Nick, his lips slick and bitten. Nick blinks, starts back a bit, and Harry raises one eyebrow but just says, "Like, something for me."

"Seems right," Nick says. He can't clear the memory from his mind and he pulls the wine to him again, downing the glass and wincing. It might be the gone-off Cab, but Nick feels like the warm sour taste in his throat is too familiar just to be some bad wine.

"You should take care of yourself more." Harry pulls his foot up onto the sofa and taps it lightly against Nick's knee, face very serious, like the idea of Nick taking better care of himself is of vital importance. Nick tips his head in a question. "You know. Like, resolve to stop doing things that make you feel shit."

"I don't feel like shit." Harry frowns and presses his foot harder against Nick's leg. Nick shivers a little where their skin touches. But he thinks about Harry texting last month to tell him he had to change his flight and couldn't make dinner, thinks of Michael's disbelieving face just a few days ago when Nick said he hoped they'd stay friends. "Okay, well. I'll take that under advisement Harold."

"You should." Harry nods and sets his tea cup down, settling back onto the sofa closer to Nick than when he started, his foot sliding forward more to rest on Nick's thigh. Harry stares at Nick and Nick thinks it's with an expression he actually hasn't seen before.

Nick stares back at Harry. He knows what his resolution should be if he really wants to stop himself feeling like shit so he doesn't say anything. Nick finally breaks the staring contest they're apparently having and shakes his head. He lets the wine glass clatter on top of a book on the coffee table and finds the remote, turning on the telly in an effort to distract them both. But when he glances back at Harry to see how he feels about a re-air of _Chatty Man_ with Tina Fey, Harry's still staring. 

Nick frowns for a second and then shrugs, laughing a bit at the confused expression on Harry's face. "Are you really coming down with something?"

Harry lets himself grin slowly, shaking his head and reaching out to wrap a hand around Nick's wrist. Nick feels a familiar rush of heat at the touch, lets himself be pulled across the couch and against Harry's chest, lets Harry's tongue press into his mouth to chase away the bad taste that had been there. Resolutions are for the new year anyway, and Harry will be off finding something for himself by then, so Nick may as well have one last hurrah, New Years' Eve style, and deal with the let down later just like a hangover. 

*

It's not a break-up holiday, because you can't break something that isn't together or whatever. So it's not a break-up because they're not a thing to break and if they were a thing they would never be an exclusive thing because that's something you have to be around long enough to decide, long enough to have the conversation where one person says maybe they're tired of non-serious, mutually beneficial non-exclusive shagging even if that's not what they expected to happen. And just because maybe this time Harry could be around long enough to have that kind of conversation if Nick actually wanted to try to have it, Nick is very aware that Harry chose not to be around, so Nick hasn't tried. Even if there could be a break-up, Nick thinks as he takes whatever drink Pix has on offer and downs it in one go, his drunken thoughts racing and his throat burning with alcohol and sugar. Even if there could be, this wouldn't be it, because if nothing else, Harry's a proper gentleman who at least tells you he's breaking up, doesn't just leave you behind with no say-so for a reality-show supermodel. Nick knows this and he's sure his friends know this, even if Aimee once drunkenly muttered she wished they'd never met the lot of One Direction after Harry left on the last tour and Nick spent the night throwing up vodka sodas into her toilet. Nick glances at his glass and swirls the remnants of his rum drink around in a circle that resembles the way his thoughts are going right now.

In any case, Nick is not really the break-up holiday type. But somehow ever since the second morning of the Kendall Jenner Paparazzi Extravaganza, every time his friends come up with a new activity to fill the time, it certainly feels like a break-up holiday. And Nick would like to tell them it's not necessary, that he's really fine, maybe engage in some gossipy speculation about whether Kris Jenner tipped off the paps or not, but he also knows if he actually brings it up, everyone will think he's just putting on a brave face. Which he isn't, both because he doesn't do "brave face," he does drunken pouting, and because he may be completely pathetic and full of feelings, but he knows where he stands and he had already decided his New Years' resolution was to get over it days before anyone showed up on a yacht anywhere. So he bites his tongue when his friends crowd around him and distract him any time he looks at his phone, takes the drinks they bring and hugs that come with them, and he feels pathetic, but doesn't tell them to leave off.

Another afternoon of cooing and worried frowns followed by three of the strongest rum drinks he's ever had, though, and he forgets biting his tongue and goes for it anyway. "Daize," he breathes against her neck, "you don't have to entertain me or watch me or whatever." Daisy pulls back to look at him, head cocked. "Like, it's not a break-up holiday."

Daisy smiles and takes a sip of her drink. "Well, you did break up."

Nick squints, thinking. "We weren't together." He tries to get the last bit of the drink, licking at the sugary bits that linger at the rim of the glass. "Aren't." He prefers the present tense. "We're never like, together, are we then?"

Now Daisy squints. "Grimmy." She frowns, looks like she's changing her mind. "You broke up with Michael."

Oh. That's true. Nick did do that or, Michael did really, but- "That's not what I mean."

No one had really spared much time on that, just a, 'You're sure?' from Pix, a sigh of 'Oh, I liked him,' from Aimee, and 'Never did fancy those tats, mate,' from Henry. Certainly no one would have bothered planning scuba dives and beach drinking games and other distractions for that break-up.

Daisy pats his arm and stands up. "I know." She takes his glass and motions at someone behind Nick. "Let me get you another. Alexa's on her way over."

Nick's head is spinning a little, like a top, and then Alexa has replaced Daisy and she's laughing against his hair. "What's like a top, Grim?"

His phone buzzes against his thigh and he squeezes away from Alexa to fish it out of his jean shorts, pausing to drunkenly appreciate the novelty of wearing shorts in December. It's from Harry, just a picture of the ocean, and all ocean pictures look the same, so it's not as though Nick recognizes it from the pap photos, but his not-sober brain superimposes all the images Aimee tried to convince him not to look at over the one in the text and he can't help feeling like everything just flipped upside down.

"Alexa, it's not-" But Nick stops, shoves his phone away and sighs, leaning back against Alexa. Maybe it isn't a break-up holiday, but maybe there's nothing wrong with just enjoying his friends' attention while he tries to stand his ground. "It's not a top, it's a roller coaster."

"Ah, okay," Alexa says, making room for Daisy who's back with a fresh round of drinks.

*

The last day in Miami before they all leave for Belize and Nick is avoiding his friends. He feels bad about it, but he needs just a break, just a fifteen minute break from the concerned head tilts every time he checks his mobile. It's not as though Harry hasn't been seen off with other women before and- Nick cuts off that train of thought because this is his break. He reaches into his pocket for a lighter and his pocket is slightly damp from a drink Rita spilled earlier, so it takes a few tries to get a flame to spark, but he does, feels like some mythical man creating fire for the first time as he lights up and inhales a lungful of thin smoke. Gelz says she's quitting smoking for New Year's, wants him to do it too, but she says that every year so Nick figures he won't try it unless she can manage first. Besides, quitting Harry Styles is going to be enough quitting for the year, maybe for next year too. Nick hasn't mentioned that resolution to anyone, though, knows how it will sound through the fog of their concern.

The orange ash is nearly the only light in the little cabana Nick's escaped to, so he stills when he hears a scraping noise and then a cough from very close by. It's the States, so it's entirely possible he's not even allowed to smoke here. His hand flutters away from his face, hovers a bit behind his hip. Then the curtain draws back and there's a bit more light, greenish from the reflection off the pool. Standing there is a bloke Nick was dancing with earlier, taller than Nick and firm under his thin white t-shirt. He smiles down at Nick and Nick raises his hand again and takes another drag, not in trouble after all.

"Following me, are you then?"

The guy- maybe Raul or maybe just Ron- shrugs and laughs, producing two shot glasses with limes perched on the edge of each. "I said I'd buy you a drink, but you disappeared. Then I saw you come out here." He lets the curtain close behind him and it's darker now than before. "Seemed convenient," he says.

Nick had intended to let him buy the drinks, but Alexa wanted help with a song and Nick hadn't been able to find something-with-an-R again. He raises his eyebrows, but figures it's not noticeable in the dark, so he stands up and crushes the end of his cigarette under his foot, takes two unsure steps forward until he feels the cool glass pressing into his hand, warm fingers trailing behind. 

The tequila is sharp and the lime stings against a hangnail Nick didn't realize he had. He should have gone with Aimee to get a manicure. From the club behind them, the music changes, something deeper with more rhythm, so Nick figures Alexa's done at the decks. He sucks the citrus into his mouth and thanks the universe that he picked the kind of friends who will not come looking for him or be upset if he disappears for hours as long as he's willing to give details when he returns, make a scandalous story out of it all. Maybe a good fuck is exactly what they need to hear about to let the whole thing go. And if not, it certainly won't hurt Nick for trying. Being non-exclusive is supposed to come with exactly this set of perks - poolside sex in dark hidden places. Nick doesn't think about all the dark hidden places there probably are to shag on a luxury yacht.

He tucks the ruined lime into the shot glass and drops it behind him, hears it land on the table he mostly knew was there. Raul - Nick's going with that because it feels more Miami, less like a banker from Shoreditch- leans forward and does the same. Nick hears the sound of the glasses clanking together and falling to the floor as their mouths meet and he laughs into the kiss.

Raul's abs are even more impressive with the t-shirt off and the place is posh enough that the wooden lounger in the cabana holds both of their weight even as Nick is fucking into Raul's mouth, hard, while Raul thrusts up into his own fist, perfect Miami body shaking the entire chair like Nick's the one at sea. Nick pulls out too soon when he comes, leaves traces on Raul's cheek and in his hair, but he tries to make amends by finishing Raul off with his own mouth, the taste of lime mixing with the tang of sweat. After, Raul catches his breath and sweeps a hand through his hair, but he only laughs when he realizes what's happened and Nick smiles back, rests against Raul's abs while he smokes another, ignoring the sound of his phone vibrating against the tiles in the pocket of his discarded shorts.

*

"If you go up to that third hut, the one on the dock, and you stand with your back to the water you can get a signal." Fifi sucks a piece of mango off her fingers and tips her head to the hut she's talking about. "Can't believe we were tricked into a resort with almost no internet."

Nick frowns down at his phone and scans the beach for Alexa, but he vaguely remembers her and Alex disappearing about an hour ago. "Would you date someone called the same thing as you?" He's actually done it, sort of, but even then he found it a bit creepy.

Fifi chews and considers, then shrugs. "If he looked like Alex." And Nick has to grant her that. "I miss Aimee," she says, starting in on another piece of fruit.

Nick misses Aimee and he misses Miami and telly and bars with proper drinks. He also misses the internet, so he pulls himself from the lounger and starts down the beach to the dock. 

"Back to the water," Fifi shouts behind him and Nick nods, raises his hand in a weird wave of acknowledgment.

When he gets to the hut, he spins around in circles until his phone finally shows a small wi-fi connection. It starts to vibrate in his hand with email and message notifications and Nick imagines coming back from being shipwrecked. They've only been here two days. A few messages from Aimee, a slew of pictures of Pig from Colette, two work emails from Vic who should not be working either, and some messages from Harry. Nick clicks into that thread.

A photo of Anne asleep on the airplane and two artsy photos of the airport, then _Who has Pig?_ Those were all yesterday. This morning the first one is _Can I stay at your flat?_ Nick frowns. He assumed Harry was heading back to L.A., maybe get in more quality time with the first family of reality television or at least manage a few of those hikes Americans loved so much. _When do you get back? it seems weird to get Greek food without you._ Nick is pretty sure Harry gets Greek food without Nick all the time. Just like he does most things without Nick most of the time. Nick rolls his eyes at his own petulance - too much relaxation is making him annoyingly melancholy. He considers leaving the hut and abandoning the internet but his boredom is worse than any issues with Harry, so he presses on. The next message is a picture of Harry's favorite dish from Lemonia. Nick squints and recognizes his kitchen tile under the take-away box. The idea of Harry rattling around Nick's flat when Nick's not there and Harry's supposed to be in America sets Nick's teeth on edge. The fact of it bangs sharply against the reality of how often he isn't there. 

He stares at the photo for a while longer and then sighs. _They're coming to clean the carpet Thursday, you can't stay._ He adds a house emoji and an angry face just because he knows it will bother Harry. It's true, but Nick could probably cancel. He's only doing it because the estate agent says it will make the flat show better. Nick's scrolling through his emails for the number of the carpet company when a new message comes in. _I'll just stay until then. Okay? .x_ then before Nick can reply _Having a good time?_ Nick doesn't like to calculate time zones- if someone's sending messages it doesn't matter what time it is for them- but he figures it's late in London, wonders if Harry's out or curled up on Nick's sofa or tucked under his duvet. Nick pictures Harry's hair splayed over Nick's pillows like the last time they were together there and he instantly hates the internet.

Instead of responding, Nick leans out of the hut and takes a photo of the sun setting over the water, palm trees swaying behind. He can hear Fifi and Alexa shouting in the distance. He sends the photo, tacks on some tropical-themed emoji and leaves, deciding he doesn't need to send any snaps, anyway. Alexa thinks his resolution should be to "unplug" more, so he figures she'll be proud of him for that at least.

*

London is mild by London standards, but brutal by the standards of someone arriving home from the tropics and Nick feels chilled to the bone for days. He's back to work immediately and there are fashion shows to go to, people to catch up with, a very put-out Pig to make up to for being away so long. He sees that Harry left a bag of clothes behind in Nick's bedroom, tucked in a corner, a jumper neatly folded on top. Nick thinks it's impressive that despite the cold he waits a whole two days before pulling it on. He doesn't tell Emily that when he comes back from the bedroom and she asks why he looks so chuffed, just says he's done yoga two days in a row, which is true and certainly feels impressive when Nick reaches up into the cupboard for a wine glass, soreness radiating down his back.

Emily is staying with Nick for no good reason, but because Nick complained about being alone after so many weeks surrounded by all his loud friends. When Harry calls, Nick stares at the bag across the room and doesn't wait for the question, just explains Emily's there and laughs down the line as he says, "Can't very well just kick the poor girl into the street, Harold." Harry agrees, says he won't miss any of his stuff in the meantime and makes Nick promise they'll get a drink later this week.

If Emily hears it all from where she's brushing her teeth in the bathroom, she doesn't say anything when she comes out, just cuddles up to Nick and presses play where they've paused _Bridesmaids_ on Netflix.

Nick is too busy for a drink all week, actually too busy, and manages to miss all of Harry's calls without even trying. Not that he would try, it's just that he thought this resolution would be aided by the distance of an entire continent and several time zones. But the inability to connect even with Harry in the UK feels like the universe is supporting Nick's resolution, so he slips up and over dinner tells Aimee his plan.

She pulls at her hair, pinkish orange for the moment and considers Nick over her cocktail. "What happened before New Year's?"

Nick curses himself, downs the rest of his Jack and Coke and waves at the waiter for another. "Nothing happened." Her gaze doesn't relent. "Someone pointed out that a good resolution would be to take care of myself. Sleeping with someone when I want more than he does seems like a great example of not doing that, so."

"This has nothing to do with Yacht-gate?"

Nick rolls his eyes. "Why do Americans have to put 'gate' on the end of everything? You weren't even alive when Nixon was a thing."

Aimee laughs, but only for a second and then her eyes go steely again. "Seriously, though, you broke up with Michael- did you think-"

"I didn't think. I know better than to _think_ , because that's not what Harry and I are about." He pauses, rattles the ice in his glass. "Were. Michael broke up with me, if you can even call it breaking up when we were only half together, because he thought we were about to be exclusive and we weren't." Nick shrugs.

"Because of Harry."

Nick shrugs. "Harry happened. Because Harry always happens." Aimee rolls her eyes. "But it's not about him, Aims. I let Harry happen - he didn't do anything, I just don't want the thing we have anymore. So we're just going to go back to being friends."

They pause while the waiter sets down another round and nod their thanks as he turns away. Nick takes a long swig of his new drink and the sweetness coats his tongue, thicker now than the watered down version he'd been drinking. It makes him think of kissing Harry, so he shakes the thought away and tunes back into Aimee's scolding.

"Most adults who are taking care of themselves would probably do that by telling the other person. Not by avoiding all their calls." Nick wonders if he can just take it all back, reverse time and not let Aimee tell him her resolution is to be more appreciative of Ian, not get carried away in mocking her so much that he spilled his own goal. "Nick. I support you. I guess." She shrugs. "But I just think you should talk to him."

"I'm not actually avoiding him. I don't want to shag, but I still want to be friends. He just keeps calling when I'm busy." As if on cue his phone vibrates in his pocket, but he doesn't think Aimee notices. "He's supposed to be in bloody L.A. anyway, where he lives. I don't know why he's still here."

"Maybe that's the question you should ask him." Aimee takes a sip of her pink drink and Nick thinks it's almost the same color as her hair. She swallows, tilts her head and watches Nick for a second. "Did you have that meeting with Big Boss Ben, then?"

Nick knows she's letting him off the hook, but it still feels like a victory, so he accepts it and tells her about the meeting. When he gets home there's a voice mail from Harry with three lines of what seems to be a song about cowboys. Nick sends a questioning face and a music note emoji and goes to bed before he gets a response.

*

Somehow Harry got into Nick's flat, sneaking in with Gelz when she came to drop off a belated holiday gift and just staying behind. Nick didn't want to make a thing of it with her there- doesn't want to talk about it with her later, and Nick suspects Harry knew he wouldn't. So Nick sees her out and on the way back to the lounge stops in the kitchen for a glass of water. He doesn't offer Harry anything, but Harry doesn't comment as Nick sits on the sofa and scrolls through his phone. Harry has his notebook out and is frowning at the page.

"Is it really so awful to use a cliche now and again?"

Nick raises an eyebrow and looks up from his phone, "What do you mean?"

"I'm supposed to avoid them for a good song, yeah? For something of high quality or whatever, but they're everywhere and they're not untrue and. Maybe the emotional pain _is_ gut-wrenching." Nick shrugs, taking a long sip while he carefully avoids thinking that his gut feels a bit wrenched at the moment, actually. "Aren't cliches just something that's so true everyone says it the same way?"

"They're something that's said the same way so often that it doesn't sound true anymore."

Harry's eyes go round, like a very cliched owl's and his lips part. "Oh. Yeah, that's." He nods. "Okay. I'll stick to avoiding them, I guess."

Nick nods back and he's about to make a joke about working to get those Grammys or summat, when he realizes Harry is closing his notebook and starting to push up from the floor to the sofa. If he does that, he'll be sitting very close to Nick and Nick has a resolution to maintain, so he looks at his phone and stands up abruptly, only sort of feigning surprise. "Oh, sorry Harold, but I have to kick you out. I have a friend coming round, forgot all about it."

Harry's arm is bent on the edge of the sofa and his body is hovering between it and the floor. His smile drops for a second before coming back, brighter and completely fake. "Who--" Nick shoves his face in his glass so he doesn't have to look. He's being careful. "You didn't say--" Harry starts again and then stops, pushes himself fully to his feet. "Sorry, I guess I did just stop in."

Nick nods, smiling and licking his lips, steadily not noticing the way Harry's eyes track the movement. "Oh, you're always welcome, it's just." Nick waves his phone. "Prior commitment and all."

Harry nods, turning heel and heading to the door. Nick follows. Harry shrugs his coat on and leans forward for a hug. Nick dashes into his arms and out again as quickly as possible, barely time to feel the flutter of Harry's fingers on his back or the softness of his hair against Nick's cheek. Harry's frowning again. "See you soon?"

Nick knows it shouldn't be a question, but he's lying when he says "Of course," so he can't blame Harry for asking. He remembers Aimee's face when he told her he wasn't avoiding Harry. "Ring me, we'll get drinks before you're off out of town again."

Harry looks confused, opens his mouth, but thanks to whoever is watching over Nick, his phone actually rings, "Sorry" blasting out to the room and Harry laughs for a second. "I'll ring," he says and then Nick is closing the door and sliding his phone on.

"Pix, perfect, be a love and come over to mine and save me from all this silence?" Nick presses back against the door and imagines he can hear Harry's footsteps as he leaves.

*

Nick's just had his hair cut and when he tumbles out of Bleach, he walks directly into Lou Teasdale.

"Grim, love, hi," she says, pulling him into a hug. "The quiff looks marvelous, as ever."

Nick fingers his hair as he pulls back. "Thinking about trying something new next time, maybe." He smiles. "You alright?"

Lou nods and takes a few steps to the side so they can let another customer into the shop. "Yeah, been really busy and Lux is a terror now that Christmas is over."

"Post-holiday let down is hard on us all." Nick pulls his jacket around him, feels the soft edge of his flannel underneath. Another shirt pulled from the bag Harry still hadn't taken from Nick's flat. "You can tell Lux that I'm a terror, too."

Lou's laugh is warm and Nick listens as she tells him about Lux's visit to Santa and their Christmas holidays. "You went away?" she asks when she's finished the story.

"The Grimshaws first Christmas trip," Nick nods. "I think it was a success. Eileen got on the wine a bit, anyway."

"Harry said he didn't get to see you for Boxing Day, then you were both away." Lou smiles and Nick tries to keep his face pleasantly neutral. "You must be thrilled to have him here in town for so long."

"Well, you too, I'm sure." Nick glances over his shoulder, wonders if Lou is late for her appointment. "I thought for sure he'd be right back to Los Angeles. Can't imagine staying in all this grey when there's another option."

Lou's smile falls a little and she squints. "Well, sure, but here's home, right? We're here and family and you, of course. I'm sure it must be nice to fall back into it, the two of you, like old times."

When Nick was a teenager, he would sometimes forget his puff-puff at home and invariably he would suddenly need it the minute he realized he didn't have it. Psychosomatic or summat, probably, but he remembers the slow tightening of his lungs and the disappointing sense of panic at his failure to just bring the damn thing that would set in when he patted his pocket and found it empty. His chest feels that way now, Lou's face open and bright against the London sky and he takes a deep breath, in and out, reminds himself that he's fine, that he can breathe, that nothing is wrong with his lungs. After a second, he's okay and he nods at Lou, then rubs his hand quickly across the back of his neck.

"Bloody hairs everywhere," he says and imagines he can see one floating away on the wind. "Anyway, you're probably here for a reason, so don't let me keep you."

Lou starts back and bit and then nods. "So lovely to see you." She moves in for a quick kiss on the cheek and then away, a rush of spice-scented air following her. "Give my best to our boy."

Nick tucks his hands deep in his pockets and moves down the street, ignoring the tickling on his neck. He'll have to put Harry's shirt in the wash, he realizes as he climbs into his car and checks his mirrors before pulling out. His phone is pressed against his thigh and he thinks about using it, calling Harry to go to tea, just friends like. He thinks of Lou saying "old times" and "our boy" and just leans forward to turn the radio up louder.

*

Nick's phone flashes a picture of Harry from two years ago, smiling and sticking out his tongue in the studio. They haven't talked in two days, haven't seen each other in six, but after running into Lou, Nick feels guilty, so he swipes to take the call.

"Can I come to the radio tomorrow?" Harry asks with no preamble, cutting off Nick's false-cheery "Hiya."

"In the morning?" Nick resists the urge to pull his phone away and check the display to make absolute sure it's Harry who's rung. "Like, to my show?"

"No, I was thinking from seven - put in a good word with Annie?" Harry's laugh is only a half-formed thing. "Yeah, to yours."

"You know I'm still on at half-six?" Nick is stalling a little and next to him Fiona has her head tilted, obviously listening. "In the morning."

"Niiiick." Harry rarely sounds sincerely irritated and Nick isn't sure if that's what this is or if he's teasing.

Producer Vic pokes her head in, "Are you lot coming to this meeting, then?" Fiona tips her head at Nick and holds up a finger. Vic sighs, "When the talent's ready." Fiona smiles as Vic leaves and Fiona goes back to adding milk to her tea.

"It's probably not a great idea, Harold." Nick didn't mean to say that and Fiona's stopped stirring, but she isn't turning to look at him again. "Security and all."

Harry breathes down the line for a second. "It'll be fine. I'll have someone set it up so I can get in through the back and such." There's a pause. "I know how to do it."

Nick picks up his coffee cup and turns to lean against the break room counter. Fiona leans against him a little, just for a second, before nodding down the hall to the conference room and leaving him alone. "I know you do." He swirls his cup and watches the liquid slosh a little. "Of course you can come, if you really want to get up so early."

Harry laughs. "Brilliant. And maybe after, we--"

"Producer Vic needs me - production meeting now and I'm late and she's already going to be mad about an unexpected guest, so." Nick stands up straight, but doesn't move to leave. "Just text me when you're on your way?"

"Oh. Yeah, of course." Harry's voice is quiet and there's a pause like he wants to say something more, but all he says is, "See you tomorrow, then, mate" and then the line is dead.

Nick stands in the kitchen until Fiona pops back in, then shakes himself once and smiles bright. "Sorry Little Fi-Fi. Important radio host business I just had to attend to and all that."

She nods, laughing but not smiling, and lets him lead the way to the meeting, not sure if he should tell Vic about Harry or just let it be a surprise. By the end of the meeting, he's decided on the latter and tells himself it's because annoyed Vic is the most fun Vic, not because he doesn't want to explain when Harry doesn't show up.

In the morning, Nick's glad of it, because when he's settled in his chair listening to Tina do the news, he still hasn't seen a text off Harry. Fiona keeps glancing up at him as she prepares for the show. Nick smiles, a little too broadly, but she smiles back and then he's off on a story about Pig chasing a squirrel around the garden this morning and starting the show off with the new Coldplay, which is jangly and mediocre, but that could just be his mood. He presses through into the show because he's a professional and if his links are a bit clipped and his jokes aren't landing just right, no one mentions it. His phone buzzes at ten past seven, just as he's pressed play on a replay of yesterday's Live Lounge cover.

_Sorry, traffic. Be up in a few._

He stares at the message for nearly a minute as if it's in a foreign language. There was no traffic this morning.

"That your guest, then?" Fiona asks, wry smile on her face.

"Oh so you were eavesdropping." Nick says at the same time Vic says, "What guest?"

The song's nearly over so Nick just rolls his eyes, waving at Fiona so she'll go ahead and explain to Vic. Vic looks both annoyed and excited all at the same time and Nick can't help but smile, knowing exactly how quickly the annoyance will disappear once Harry's actually here, charm in full force.

One link and half another song later and Harry's there, eyes soft and sleepy, his vowels longer than usual when he says hello, and he has coffees for everyone, in direct violation of the studio rules but completely aware that no one's going to enforce them with him, so it's less time than even Nick would have guessed until Vic is completely in his thrall. Fiona, to her credit, has decided to go with staunchly unimpressed and just mouths "Hi," and busies herself with some knobs and dials that even Harry probably knows serve no purpose. Harry blinks, but shrugs and turns his attention to Nick.

He puts his palm up though and points at the microphone, so Harry settles down into the empty guest chair and twists his legs up into some sort of uncomfortable pretzel shape while Nick fades the song down. "Greta from Kent's been on, says she is not feeling that song this morning. Sorry there, Greta, but I think it's good." He looks up, gaze skidding across Harry's torso instead of his face and then back to Fiona. "What do you think Fiona? Like that one?"

"It's alright," she says. "Bit shouty for the morning, p'rhaps."

"Oi, no such thing. Shouting in the morning is the only way to get going." Out of the corner of his eye, Nick can see that Harry's let his eyes close and his head is resting on the back of the chair. "But okay, how about something more soothing, that do you, Fi?" Fiona nods and Nick starts the next track, turning to look at Harry properly, surprised to find that he still looks tired even now that he's been off tour for months. He's caught up in trying to decide when the last time he's seen Harry this pale was and then Harry blinks and they're looking directly at one another and Nick realizes that hasn't happened in a long time. Harry doesn't smile, just holds his gaze like he's waiting for something and when Nick finally breaks and turns away, Harry's sigh is louder than anything else in the room.

*

"D'you ever," Harry frowns, does that thing where he pulls his hair into his face just to push it back. "It's awful when you're feeling out of sorts and you know the exact cure is someone who isn't there."

Harry had insisted on lunch after the show and Vic couldn't deny him anything apparently, so immediately excused Nick from the production meeting. Nick rushed them through lunch without really meaning to, without really wanting to, but not knowing what else to do anymore, but it didn't matter because Harry didn't have a car and didn't call a service, just hopped in with Nick and didn't answer when Nick asked where he wanted to go.

So, they're back at Nick's flat and they filled some time with Harry pampering Pig and Nick washing the mug he left in the sink that morning. Then Harry came back from the garden and wrapped two fingers and a thumb around Nick's wrist, his thumb rubbing lightly at a drop of water trapped under it. "Nick," he said, looking up from under his hair and Nick had felt like it was all too much, but he let Harry pull him into the lounge and onto the couch. Harry hadn't let go until Nick was leaned back against the cushions and then he'd only gone as far as the coffee table. The silence was like a blanket until he finally spoke and now Nick could pretend to be obtuse, but it'll just delay things.

Still, he doesn't look at Harry when he says, "I'm right here."

A huff of breath. "I was gone for so long and I know-- I'm the one who isn't here, but it still sucks. I'm always not here, for so long, except now I _am_." Nick thinks of Harry's bag in the next room, half empty now. "And so're you, but you're angry with me and. Well, I'm still out of sorts."

"Not angry." Nick looks at Harry full on again and his eyebrows are raised a little, not a challenge, but definitely mild disagreement. "Careful."

"Huh?" Harry looks behind him, sits up straight like he's about to break something instead of like he already has. And it's terribly trite, that, but Nick's not trying to avoid cliches in his pop songs, so he allows it.

He waves his hand to dismiss Harry's question. "I'm not angry; I'm careful."

"Careful with me?" Harry presses two fingers to his bottom lip. "Because of me." Nick shrugs because this was too much five minutes ago and it was too much this morning, but it just hasn't stopped happening. He remembers telling Aimee that Harry always happens. "Because I'm not usually here?"

"Yes, no, I don't--" Nick frowns. "It's awful when you're feeling out of sorts and you know the exact cure is someone who isn't there?" Harry blinks, nods almost like Nick's not just parroting his words back at him but saying something profound. "I thought maybe it'd be easier if something else were the cure."

Harry doesn't say anything, just lets his mouth shape an 'oh.' He waits until Nick looks directly at him, keeps waiting until Nick sighs.

"It isn't." Nick says finally, thinking for only a second of Michael, of bright drinks made of sugar and rum, of quick shags in humid poolside air, of all the resolutions no one ever keeps. "For the record."

Nick can tell Harry's biting at the corners of his mouth to keep from smiling and this doesn't feel like a smiling occasion, so Nick one-hundred-percent cannot handle that actual smile, so he shouldn't, but he takes the path of least resistance and leans through the space between them to press his lips over Harry's. "It's not easier," he mutters against Harry's mouth, the last sound being swallowed in as Harry opens to him.

It's soft and hot and he feels the kiss through his whole body, like a sharp pain up his arm as if he should be calling for an ambulance. As someone who's tried to quit smoking twice a year for the last four years, he recognizes the feeling of falling back into something you're not supposed to want and he knows that if he pushes through, it'll stop scratching at his throat and he can stop quitting, but he also knows that he'll want to quit again eventually. The thought and the pain and the way Harry's started clutching at Nick's thighs make him tense up, hands lifting to push against Harry's shoulders - he hesitates, though, because stopping this means he'll have to keep going with the conversation they were having. He can't decide which is worse, so he just holds the moment, not quite kissing back anymore, but not stopping either. 

A second in limbo, though, and Harry's decided for him, pulling back, one hand curling against his chest, the other loose on Nick's leg. He stares at Nick and at least the hint of a smile is gone. "You're still being careful."

Nick shrugs. "Someone told me my New Year's resolution should be to take care of myself."

Harry looks like someone took away his favorite toy. "I didn't mean-" He bites his lip. "Like, green smoothies, the gym, and quitting smoking, right?"

Nick laughs with less humor than most people cry. "You did mean." Nick closes his eyes for a second. "You said stop doing things that make me feel like shit."

Nick doesn't look until Harry sighs and lifts his hand from Nick's leg. "I didn't know that was me." Nick honestly sort of thinks he did, but he doesn't say that, just stares at where Harry's other hand is still pressed to his jumper, rings glinting against the dark cotton. He stands up, looks behind him at Pig. "Like." He turns back. "Always?"

"No. Only this part." Which isn't true, really. "Or, not this part, actually - never this part." Nick shrugs because at this point there's no going back. "The part that isn't this part. The part that's L.A. and Kendall and me never being exclusive with anyone but where 'not exclusive' only applies to you."

Harry blinks, slow like always. He always looks like he's just waking up. "But we--"

Nick cuts him off because despite his more vindictive moments, he was never interested in making Harry feel guilty. "I know we didn't. We're not a thing, we're not that and I know that. I said I'm not angry and I'm not. It's not- you didn't do anything wrong. I just." _developed feelings_ Nick doesn't say like he's a five-year old talking about broccoli. "-hurt. It hurts too much. It's not your fault."

Harry steps back two steps and then forward. He's right that cliches are everywhere. "You said you didn't want to be exclusive."

Nick scoffs, not tying to be mean, but-- "I said that two years ago. And also, if I'm being disgustingly honest, which I guess I am, if I said it again recently it's because I thought it was better to just take what I could have." Harry stares at him, squinting like it's too dark in the room to see Nick's face. "Pathetic, I am aware."

"Why couldn't you have more?"

Nick rolls his head on his neck and really wishes he had a cigarette. "Harry."

Harry's cheeks have pinked up now and he looks like he might be getting into a proper strop. "Nick." He glares down at him. "I love you. You know that, right?" Nick nods, because of course. "So, why couldn't you at least ask?"

And now Nick's actually almost angry like he hasn't been and he stands up. "Really, Harold? You live in L.A., you have a new girl every news cycle, it's every twenty-something's dream life. My dream life is just work and watching telly with a dog like a nan. How could I ask you to come here and watch me go to bed at half-nine and whatever?"

"I don't _live_ in L.A., I have a house in L.A.. I also have one here. I've spent no real time at either because my job is literally never being at home." Harry pulls at his fringe again, frustrated, but the hint of a smile is back and Nick feels queasy. "I have a new girl every week because I don't want a relationship with any of them because if I'm going to have a relationship, it's going to be with you." He says this like it isn't even a big deal but Nick really wasn't expecting it. "The same reason I assumed you have a new stupid model each time I see you, if we're pointing fingers. Nick. I can't believe you didn't just ask instead of ignoring me."

"I didn't want to lose you." Even with what Harry just said, theoretical wanting isn't the same as actually in-the-present wanting.

"But you didn't have me! You've barely talked to me since I've been here and I thought I did something wrong or maybe you were exclusive with someone now and you didn't want to tell me or-- I don't know, something. Certainly not that you were so in love with me you couldn't be around me!" He shakes his head. "Even I am not that self-centered." Nick laughs, finally breaking a little. "So like, ignoring me and feeling shit- because now that I see you I can tell you did, don't try to deny it- or asking me for what you wanted and having me say no and feeling shit were essentially the same thing."

Nick rolls his eyes, at Harry and himself and the entire bloody universe. "If I asked and you said no, that'd be it. It would be over."

Harry pushes his hand through the air, dismissing his words. "Ask me."

Nick takes a deep breath, but he doesn't say anything. He bites his lip and stares at Harry, watching the smile start to appear fully.

"Oh fuck's sake." Harry steps another step closer. "I guess I owe you anyway." Another step. "Nick Grimshaw. Do you want to like, date me? Proper and exclusive and I promise not to shag any supermodels if you don't? I have some time off--"

"Hiatus," Nick says and Harry's smile has a dimple now.

"I have a _hiatus_ and Jeff says I have to write some not cliche love songs and it took me a while to be sure, so sorry, but maybe you want some of them to be about you?"

"Ooh, very Swifty of you." Nick's chest is tight again and his stomach is flipping, but this time it isn't wrenched at all, more like the soreness after you've been laughing for so long you're gasping with the joy of it. 

Harry raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't take the final step and Nick gets it. "So what-?"

Nick's pressing against Harry and stopping his question with a kiss and he thinks it's going to feel so epic and different, but it's still just Harry and Nick leans into it, hands sliding into Harry's curls and laughing against his lips. "Yes," he says. "Okay. No supermodels on land or on sea." Harry laughs too, pulling from the kiss a little and Nick can see his eyes rolling. "Yes."

As Harry bites lightly at Nick's bottom lip it occurs to him that he doesn't feel like shit and that this might be the only New Year's resolution he ever kept. He tells Harry this later, falling asleep against him at half-nine as predicted and Harry sets down his pen and slaps his arm, says, "Not sure it counts if you needed this much help."

Nick reaches up and wraps his hand over Harry's, pulling it down to his chest and murmurs, "It counts." Harry squeezes his hand back and Nick lets himself drift off to Harry's light humming and the sound of pen against paper.


End file.
